


Deceiving Appearances

by picothelibrarian



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Shorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 16:26:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19479658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picothelibrarian/pseuds/picothelibrarian
Summary: Before Crowley and Aziraphale hazard the punishments of Heaven and Hell, they need to do a bit of practice first.





	Deceiving Appearances

“Quick quick, who’s this?” Aziraphale waved and a small rotating figure hovered in the air between them.

“Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” quoted Crowley.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The angel Michael,” sighed Crowley, “I do know these people. An eternity in pits and hellfire doesn’t entirely erase one’s memory. What a tightarse.”

Aziraphale looked primly shocked. “The archangel Michael is - well, I’m quite sure - that kind of language -”

“We built a cloud nebula together. Wouldn’t even let me put the stars into any funny patterns.” Crowley touched his upper lip with his tongue as he remembered. 

“What kind of funny pattern would you even - ?”

Crowley flashed him a yellow look over the rim of his sunglasses. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Oh. Oh, I see.”

“Anyways, that’s Michael. No sense of humour,” Crowley waved away the misty figure, “Next!”

~

A lean black-clad figure sauntered, one could even say swaggered, along a tree-lined path in St. James’ Park.

“That’s not how I walk,” Crowley protested.

“It is!” retorted Aziraphale. 

“What? With my shoulders all - like that? And my legs - like that?”

“Haven’t you ever looked in a mirror?”

“Not while I’m walking.”

“Well, it’s just like that. All back and forth, like a snake. Anyways, it’s your turn.”

The man (well, he looked like a man but that was just a bit of whatdoyoucallit, smoke and mirrors for the humans) - anyways the man sitting on the bench rolled his eyes but removed his leg from where it hung over the arm of the bench and fussily adjusted his bowtie.

“How’s this?” Crowley-in-the-shape-of-Aziraphale said, sitting ramrod straight, knees together.

Aziraphale-in-the-shape-of-Crowley smiled, “Well done. Splendid.”

~

The Chateauneuf-du-Pape bottles were empty and an angel and a demon, wearing the others faces, were practicing. Practice had begun soberly enough but had rather gone off the rails.

“Last words!” proclaimed Crowley-in-the-shape-of-Aziraphale, sprawling in a very unangelic way, “Very important. Can’t be exter-erm-ext’imated without them.”

Aziraphale-in-the-shape-of-Crowley nodded, his chin resting on his chest. “How ‘bout… Farewell cruel Hell!”

Crowley-in-the-shape-of-Aziraphale frowned. “Tha’s terrible. I refuse.”

Aziraphale’s eyes slipped shut as he concentrated. “Got it!” he exclaimed, sitting up straight, “Come on in, the water's fine!”

“Hmm,” considered Crowley, “I’ll consider it.”

“H’ve you got one for me?” asked Aziraphale.

A slow smile spread across Crowley’s face - a conniving smile at odds with his current cherubic appearance. “Oh yes, good one for you. Shan’t tell you. Shan’t say until after. But trust me, ‘s very polite. ‘S very angelic.”


End file.
